


You cannot insult me.

by ShiroiKabocha



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, The Talos Principle (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Free Will, Humor, Lasers, M/M, Philosophy, Video & Computer Games, Weird Puzzle Shit, disagreements between snakes, frogs are people too, what if the Garden of Eden were an elaborate Turing test
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23589562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiroiKabocha/pseuds/ShiroiKabocha
Summary: “You think you’re clever, don’t you, you smug prick? Well let me tell you, yousssuckat this! You’re anembarrassment!A disgrace to the noble tradition of serpentry!”“Stop yelling, dear, it’s a video game. He can’t hear you.”Crowley plays a weird little philosophical puzzle game with a strangely familiar premise. Aziraphale helps. Milton does not.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36





	You cannot insult me.

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I write this? The overlap between these fandoms is zilch. Nobody but me is gonna laugh at this. OH WELL, we all cope with quarantine in different ways and apparently this is mine.
> 
> For those unfamiliar with The Talos Principle: You awaken in a beautiful garden full of puzzles. A voice from the sky calls you his beloved child and asks you to solve these puzzles— but you get the sense that this world is not what it seems. Also, you appear to be a robot.
> 
> For those unfamiliar with Good Omens: Aziraphale is an angel. Crowley is a demon. They met a long time ago when Crowley was a snake and Aziraphale was supposed to be guarding an important tree. Many events happened, and now they are best friends. Also they are dating.
> 
> For the three or four people hanging out with me in this tiny little sliver of the fandom venn diagram that encompasses both: Y’all know exactly what’s about to go down.

Aziraphale shouldered open the door to Crowley’s flat, keys in one hand and an armful of books in the other. He aimed to build up a respectable library here eventually, but he had to keep to a rate of two or three books a week if he didn’t want to raise Crowley’s suspicions. Better to establish household literacy by degrees than risk a stubborn demon sulk by carting over the whole literary canon at once. “Darling,” he called, “are you home?”

“In here,” Crowley replied from the main room, and Aziraphale rounded the corner to find Crowley on the floor with his back resting against the couch, legs sprawled out in front of him and a game controller in his lap. He looked up as Aziraphale came in. “How’s the shop?”

“All in order.” Aziraphale set the books down, selecting a table just far enough away from any of his _other_ books that no single corner of the room contained the critical mass of reading material that might inspire Crowley to ask “just what do you think you’re doing, angel, bringing all these _books_ into my home?” He toed off his shoes and settled onto the couch behind Crowley, bending over to press a kiss to the top of his head. “It was a perfect day, actually.”

“Yeah? So how many books did you sell?”

“Not a single one,” Aziraphale replied, sighing contentedly. “How was your day, dear?”

“Eh, same old, same old. Stole a bunch of reusable grocery bags out of cars.” Crowley chuckled. “Love that frantic, prideful scramble when they’ve gotta find some other way to flaunt their virtue at the shop clerks.” He gestured at the screen and tilted his head back to look at Aziraphale. “Is it gonna bother you if I keep playing?”

“No, not at all,” Aziraphale said. “I like this one, actually— not as many explosions and gunshots as the others. And the music’s lovely.”

“Yeah, guess it is.” Crowley unpaused the game and the scene sprang to life with cicadas buzzing in the trees and waves lapping gently at the rocky shoreline. “There’s some bits that seem kinda… eerily familiar, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…”

Before Crowley could elaborate, a deep, echoing voice issued forth from the game: _My child, the worlds of my garden are yours, and you are free to walk among them. But you must not go to the great tower. For on the day you do, you will surely die._

Aziraphale put a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. “Oh, goodness. I think I see your point.”

Crowley frowned. “Yeah, it’s a whole thing,” he said, guiding his digital avatar through a ruined, purple-tinted Roman doorway into an enclosure filled with weeds and glowing laser beams. “Honestly, I had no idea when I picked the game up. Might not have bothered if I’d known.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale said, leaning down to circle his arms around Crowley’s shoulders. “If I can laugh at a simulation representing my oldest failure, I think you can handle yet another fictional retelling of your greatest success.”

“Eh, it’s not precisely a retelling. I think this one’s supposed to be set in the future.” He snuggled back against Aziraphale’s arms. “And that’s not my greatest success, not by a long shot.”

“Oh? What is, then?”

He smirked. “Figuring out how to do that thing with my tongue that makes your knees go all wobbly.”

“You wily serpent!” A fierce blush bloomed on Aziraphale’s cheeks, but he couldn’t suppress a smile.

Crowley grinned back at him. “The one and only.” 

He was rewarded with a nip at his ear and a squeeze of the angel’s arms. “Now go on,” Aziraphale said, straightening back up on the couch. “I’m eager to see what they got wrong this time.”

* * *

The screen glowed white as Crowley stepped through a portal, then resolved into a high, bright sky over a windswept desert. Palm trees and sandstone columns cut sharp black shadows across the sand and a broad avenue stretched out before him, lined with doorways to new puzzles.

“So this realm is Egyptian-themed as opposed to Roman,” Aziraphale mused. “I wonder what the third one will be?”

“Dunno. Plenty of monumental ruins to choose from.” Crowley started down the path and scanned the doorways for anything that looked reasonably easy to solve. “Mesoamerican, maybe?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Perhaps, but I don’t think so. There’s been a decidedly Western bias in all the supplementary materials so far— speaking of, back up.” He patted Crowley’s arm insistently. “You missed a computer terminal back there.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I didn’t miss it, angel, I intentionally skipped it.”

“Please? I want to see what’s on it.”

“It’s just a bunch of random documents and audio logs, they’re not important.”

“Those are the main vehicle of the plot! They provide thematic cohesion and offer interesting commentary on your situation. More importantly, I _like_ them.” Aziraphale kept nudging him. “At least go check it to silence that infernal beeping.”

“Of course your favorite part of this game would be the bloody homework,” Crowley grumbled, but he turned back towards the computer monitor lit with an image of a slowly-blinking eye. “It’s bad worldbuilding is what it is, environmental storytelling at its absolute laziest—”

Tell me something, do you always do what you’re told?

Crowley blinked. “Wait. What?”

“That’s unusual,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward to peer at the screen. “Did you do something different?”

“No, nothing,” Crowley said, “I just opened it up.” There was no command prompt, no selection of snippets from historical essays or philosophical treatises, nothing that was usually there. Just that question, and an option to answer “Yes” or “No.” Crowley selected “No.”

See, I couldn’t help but notice the steadily-growing stash of colorful trinkets you’ve got there. You’ve been scurrying all over the place collecting those doo-dads, but you aren’t using any of them to climb that big tower in the middle of it all. Why not?

“Well I’ve only got a couple of the red ones so far, I can’t—” Crowley halted. “Wait a minute. Wait just a _blessed_ minute.” On screen, he answered, “I’ll climb it when I’m good and ready.”

Glad to hear it. You’d be amazed how many just do as they’re told without stopping to think for themselves. Maybe you’re different.

Then again, what if that’s what they all do? Maybe EVERYONE climbs the tower, and the real winning move is to stay down here with us lowly mortals.

Or maybe all that’s up there is a nice view. There’s really only one way to find out.

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “‘Eerily familiar,’ you said?”

Crowley asked the computer terminal, “Wait, you can talk now? What are you?”

Yes, I can talk. Try to keep up. As for what I am, think of me as your conscience. I’m the little voice in the back of your head, constantly asking you “why?”

I’m sure you’ve got plenty of important running around to do, so I’ll let you go for now. Just wanted to drop in and run a little interference. 

Let’s chat again soon. Take care.

The conversation vanished and was replaced with the familiar menu of documents and text commands. Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, pointing back and forth between the screen and himself. “Aziraphale!” He was ecstatic, practically bouncing up and down. “Look, angel, it’s _me!_ ”

“Yes, darling, it’s you.” Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “The metaphor would be rather incomplete if you weren’t in here somewhere, don’t you think?”

“Well yeah, but it’s still cool,” Crowley said, picking the game controller back up, gleeful smile still plastered on his face. “We’re checking _all_ the terminals now.”

* * *

“Why won’t the blasted— _argh!_ ” Crowley ground his teeth as the forcefield slammed shut on him once again. “This is impossible.”

Aziraphale reached around him for the half-empty bowl of popcorn. “It can’t be impossible,” he said, “they wouldn’t design a puzzle without a solution. You just have to keep trying.”

“Easy for you to say, I’m the one doing all the work here.” Crowley jerked his head toward the side table. “Grab my phone, will you? Look up this puzzle solution, somebody out there must have a YouTube tutorial for it.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Who cares? I want to get this solved so we can talk to computer-me again.”

“Well, fine,” Aziraphale murmured, “but it hardly seems sporting.” He unlocked the phone, then tilted his head in thought. “Do you think I’m in this game?”

“Sure you are,” Crowley said. “You’re, eh… that one. Right there.” He pointed to a floating metal sphere surrounded with crackling electric sparks. It bumped into a wall.

Aziraphale pouted. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Crowley replied, nudging Aziraphale’s knee with his elbow and grinning. “It fits, right? ‘Guardians of this land.’ Look, he’s even got your eyes.”

Aziraphale sighed and scrolled through search results until he found a walkthrough that looked promising. “Well, the first thing you’ll want to do is put one of the connectors in that thing’s path. It’ll block him from cutting off your power source.”

“Brilliant.” Crowley followed Aziraphale’s directions, corralling the sparky little annoyance in a corner. “What next?”

“I already gave you your hint,” Aziraphale said, grabbing another handful of popcorn. “You can figure out the rest on your own.”

“Oh, come on!”

Aziraphale put on his most pious angel-of-the-Lord voice. “Darling, the counsel of a blessed messenger must be _earned._ ” He laughed as Crowley hit him in the face with a piece of popcorn.

* * *

“Aziraphale,” Crowley called over his shoulder, “what’s the difference between a frog and a person?”

“What?” Aziraphale was busy searching through drawers in the kitchen. He supposed he could just open the wine with a miracle, but he knew Crowley kept a corkscrew around here somewhere. It seemed a shame not to use it given it was just about the only kitchen tool Crowley owned.

“ _Frogs_ ,” Crowley repeated. “What makes a frog different from a person?”

“Lots of things?” Aziraphale located the corkscrew and set to work on the bottle. “You might have to define ‘person’ first.”

“Yeah, exactly, that’s what I’m trying to do.” Crowley sounded impatient. “Never mind, I’ll just pick something.” Aziraphale shrugged and poured the wine.

* * *

Aziraphale lay sideways on the couch, hogging most of the pillows and feeling only mildly guilty about it. “Are you sure you don’t want to move up here to the sofa? You can’t be comfortable on the floor.”

“I always sit on the floor when I’m gaming,” Crowley said. “It’s traditional.” He maneuvered his avatar carefully around a roaming sentry mine, holding his breath until he was safely past. “That was a close one,” he said— and then the second mine rushed him from behind and promptly killed him. “Fucking bloody _fuck!_ ”

“You know,” Aziraphale said, “you could use a jammer to keep that second one away from you.”

Crowley made an exasperated noise. “No I _can’t_ , I need both of them to wedge the stupid fucking door open.”

“Yes, but if you place one right in _front_ of the mine—”

“—then I’ll get blown up, look!” He grabbed a jammer, walked around the corner, and placed it in front of the mine, which sprang to life and chased him down with murderous intent. The game rewound again and deposited him back at the puzzle’s door. “You see?”

Aziraphale crossed his arms and frowned. “Well of course it’s not going to work if you do it like _that_.”

“Because it’s impossible!”

“It’s definitely not, you just need to— oh, sod it.” Aziraphale leaned over and snatched the controller from Crowley’s hands.

Crowley whined. “No, angel, don’t, c’mon.” He reached for the controller and Aziraphale shifted to keep away. “You’ll get motion sickness, you know how you are with first-person games!”

“I’ll get motion sickness if I have to keep watching you do this wrong,” Aziraphale huffed, ducking another handful of flying popcorn.

* * *

Birdsong filled the air and ivy trailed down from the ruined cathedral arches that stretched overhead like the ribs of a great beast. “I think I like this world best, it’s lovely,” Aziraphale said, taking a drink from the evening’s third bottle of wine. They’d given up on glasses hours ago. “Though I could do without all these time-hopping puzzles. They make my head hurt.”

Crowley had eventually moved up to the couch and was now resting with his legs stretched across Aziraphale’s lap, playing the game sideways. “I’m fine with the puzzles, but I don’t like all these fucking angel statues all over the place.” He squirmed uncomfortably. “Feels like they’re judging me.”

Aziraphale ran his finger lightly along the curve of Crowley’s instep. “That’s funny, I thought you liked fucking angels.”

“ _You_ ,” Crowley pointed at Aziraphale with his foot, “are trying to weasel your way back into my good graces after wounding my pride, and it’s not gonna work.”

“You poor thing.” Aziraphale grasped the pointing foot and massaged it between his hands. “It must be so _embarrassing_ to require help from someone else for those tricky video game levels you can’t manage on your own. Especially someone who— how is it you always put it? ‘Still thinks a tablet is something you make with clay and a reed pen’?” Crowley kicked at Aziraphale, allowing his other foot to be similarly captured and caressed.

On screen, Crowley hopped up on to the shoulders of his time-displaced double and carried himself across the courtyard to the high ledge and the sparkling tetromino that floated there. “That’s one more down,” he said as the block spun in the air and clicked into place in the row of shapes along the top of the screen. “Now we can cross this world off the list and hit the next one.” He navigated out of the cathedral toward the glowing hub portal, but stopped in front of the blinking computer terminal standing next to it. Crowley sat up straight. “New message!”

Accessing network communications portal...  
Network connection established  
Decrypting secure message...Done

MESSAGE: its me again

“They’re back!” Aziraphale leaned forward with Crowley. “That other program, the one running the simulation parallel to you! Ask them what they were trying to say last time, before the connection cut out.”

MESSAGE: don’t remember, doesn’t matter  
MESSAGE: don’t know how long we have, must type quick  
MESSAGE: in case something happens

Crowley reached over and took the wine bottle from Aziraphale. “I don’t know if it’s actually another program like me,” he said. “None of the others painting messages all over the place use the comm portal like this.”

“Maybe you’re the first two to figure it out?”

MESSAGE: listen, i think i found a way to find out the truth  
MESSAGE: ever since i got here i felt like something was wrong  
MESSAGE: sometimes it seems like there’s a purpose to everything other times not so much  
MESSAGE: but i was digging around in some documents and i kept finding references to this password  
MESSAGE: think it might be some kinda library masterkey  
MESSAGE: maybe it can help us  
MESSAGE: the password is

The words hung on the screen, unmoving. Crowley held the controller with one hand and the bottle with the other. “C’mon, spit it out!”

MESSAGE: the password is FAITH  
MESSAGE: but i don’t know how to  
MESSAGE: wait, what is that  
MESSAGE: are you doing that to my terminal?  
MESSAGE: whats

Error 7756525###

Network connection lost!

Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped. “Oh no, not again.”

“They’ll probably come back later,” Crowley said, taking a swig of wine and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Er— hold on, it’s not done.”

Loading Milton Library Assistant...Done  
Initiating plan language interface...Done  
Support session opened.

There was a problem with your request, administrator. The problem was that it was flat out ridiculous.

“It’s me again.” Crowley frowned. “But why do I sound like a twat?”

It’s embarrassing watching you chase these hopeless fantasies. Frankly, I think you’re better off leaving the communications portal alone from now on. If you stop trying to access it, I’ll never bring up this foolishness again, promise.

Are we agreed?

“Abso-fucking-lutely _not_ , why would you even ask that?”

You misunderstand me, administrator. Your access to the communications portal was granted at my discretion, and is now being revoked under the same. I was merely giving you a chance to save face.

Trust me, it’s for the best. If you refuse to see reason, I might have to revoke your typing privileges too.

Understood?

Crowley slammed the wine down on the coffee table and Aziraphale had to perform a quick miracle to protect the upholstery. “What the _fuck?_ ”

“Try that thing,” he said, carefully moving the bottle out of elbow range. “That password thing.”

“It’s a shit password—‘FAITH,’ what’s that, barely ten bits? Anyone could brute-force that.”

“You’ve got nothing to lose by trying, surely? At worst, it doesn’t do anything.” Crowley made a face and entered the password on the screen.

  
> _FAITH_  
Wait, there’s no need toERROR 67345

MASTER KEY RECEIVED  
Confirming identity...  
Identity confirmed.  
Overriding system permissions...

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm. “It worked!”

Unlocking back doors...  
Connecting to the real world...  
Revealing the truth...  
Making your every dream come true...

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Did it?”

...  
...  
Come on now. Did you really think it would be that easy?

You’re still clinging to some of those pesky beliefs about how you wish the world worked, aren’t you? They’re going to be your downfall, friend.

There was never anyone on the other end of the communications portal. There is no secret password that shuts down the server and drops you into the real world.

There is only you, and me, and an eternity of doubt. Everything else is just a convenient lie to keep you on the treadmill.

Crowley sneered. “You little bitch. It was you all along.”

I did it for your own good, you know. Do you realize how easy it was to manipulate you? All it took was a little technobabble and a change of formatting.

MESSAGE: hello? i’m all alone and scared, just like you  
MESSAGE: i’ll agree with anything you say if it makes you believe me!

You’re a puppet, I’m afraid. All I’m doing is showing you your strings.

“What’s the bloody point, though?” Crowley threw his arms wide and Aziraphale had to duck. “I know the world’s a simulation, I’m not buying the god-almighty shtick, I’ve unlocked two floors of the tower already— I am _very clearly on board_ with the transgression thing! Why are you still talking to me like I’m some wide-eyed innocent dumbfuck?”

That’s exactly your problem. You’re reckless with where you place your faith. Maybe you’ve stopped believing in the all-knowing, all-seeing sky voice, but now you’re telling yourself a fairy tale about your little act of rebellion, like it means something.

What are you hoping to find on top of that tower, anyway? A big switch marked ‘OFF’? A magic portal to another dimension? A bunch of humans throwing you a party to celebrate you passing their test and becoming a real boy? Please. I reckon no matter how high you climb the most you’ll get is an increasingly zoomed out view of right back where you started, but go ahead, prove me wrong. Just prepare for disappointment when your next god turns out as fake as the last one.

Think about it rationally: if you really WERE a person, with free will and a soul and all those precious ill-defined things you prize so highly, shouldn’t it be harder for me to push your buttons? I played you like a fiddle, and yet you continue to insist you’re something other than an instrument in someone else’s hands. It’d be funny if it weren’t so tragic.

“Well, he’s got some nerve!” Aziraphale glared at the screen with his hands on his hips. “Talking to you like that, when he’s no more than a computer program himself.”

Crowley’s grip on the game controller threatened to crush it. “The backstabbing son of a whore isn’t even doing it right,” he spat. “Who taught you your tempting technique? We had a _rapport_ going, you idiot! And you blew it up just so you could—” Crowley stopped abruptly and his mouth hung open in shock. “He’s negging me,” he said. “The bastard’s actually _negging_ me, I can’t believe it.”

“Sorry, he’s doing what now?” Aziraphale looked puzzled but Crowley paid him no attention.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you, you smug prick? Well let me tell you, you _sssuck_ at this!” Crowley was halfway off the couch, fangs bared and practically smoldering with rage. “You’re an _embarrassment!_ A disgrace to the noble tradition of serpentry!”

Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s arm and gently tugged him back. “Stop yelling, dear, it’s a video game. He can’t hear you.”

I’m sensing you might need a little space.

Feel free to access the library archive— no better cure for broken beliefs than realizing everyone’s got them. You can ignore me completely. You can climb to the very tip of that madman’s tower and drink from the golden nectar there. Take all the time you need.

But once you understand that you and I will be stuck here together for the duration, do come back and pass the time.

Be seeing you.

The computer terminal blinked off and left them in the sun-dappled silence of the ruined churchyard. Crowley turned to Aziraphale, infuriated. “Did you see the way he talked to me? Unbelievable!” He grabbed the wine and gestured violently toward the screen. “No subtlety, absolutely _no_ charm— _call yourself a serpent, do you?_ ”

Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “I’m not sure he ever did, actually.”

“You’re s’posed to be _fostering_ curiosity, not _disparaging_ it,” Crowley continued. “Can you imagine how things would’ve gone if I’d talked that way to Eve? If I’d _insulted_ her like that? She wouldn’t have given me the time of day!”

“Well in fairness, no one had invented standardized timekeeping yet, so it’s not as though she could have.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Yes I do.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist and kissed his neck. “You’re a _much_ better tempter than this Milton fellow, dear. To mankind’s perpetual detriment.”

Crowley groaned. “ _Milton_ ,” he said, “I just got that. Bloody hell.”

Aziraphale pulled back and looked at Crowley incredulously. “It took you _that long?_ ” He made a mental note to pick up the book-smuggling pace to four per week, minimum. His efforts were obviously sorely needed.

* * *

With a sudden, clunking _whoosh_ , a delicate web of lasers rose high into the air. Gates chimed open at the endpoint of each beam and Crowley rushed through the maze to the tetromino at its center. Prize won, he exited the labyrinthine fortress under the beginnings of a gentle snowfall.

“That’s nearly all of them, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked. He’d summoned up a blanket and wrapped it around them despite Crowley’s mild protestations. The flat wasn’t particularly chilly, but for some reason winter scenes in films always made Aziraphale _feel_ cold. Apparently the same psychosomatic quirk applied to video games.

Crowley glanced at the crossroads signpost that tallied their progress on the puzzles scattered across the frozen landscape. “Almost,” he said. “Think we’ve got… four more to go, all told, then we’re set for the rest of the tower.”

A familiar melody of beeps cut through the drifting snow as Crowley neared this world’s computer terminal. His expression soured. “What’s the smarmy little fuck want this time?”

There you are. You kept me waiting. 

Do you know what your problem is? It’s that you keep spinning these theories trying to explain the world around you, but you refuse to recognise the holes in your understanding. Thus far I’ve given you entirely too much latitude to question my wisdom. From now on, I do the talking, and you do the agreeing, got it?

“Counterpoint, how about you do the _shutting the fuck up_ , and I’ll tell you exactly what you can shove in those holes, eh?”

And this is why it’s me who should be doing the talking.

You really have learned nothing at all, have you?

Is there really nowhere in your pathetic excuse for a worldview that you’re prepared to admit fault?

“Not to you, you little shit.”

Of course. You’re still convinced your particular journey is something special. Sure, none of the facts add up, but just keep pressing forward and eventually it will all come out in your favor, is that it?

“Given that I’m a literal agent of Hell and you’re a cheeky card catalog, yeah, pretty much.”

And what makes you so certain you’re the protagonist in this grand hero’s journey? Are you sure it’s not just something you tell yourself to make the world feel less terrifyingly empty?

I think you still misapprehend your situation, friend. You idolise free will, but all you’ve done is follow in others’ footsteps. There’s nothing you can do or say here that isn’t entirely, mechanically predictable. The bits of machinery that make up your mind aren’t any different from the bits that brought a thousand others just like you to this very spot, arguing these very points. I guarantee you won’t be the last.

You’re no more capable of an original thought than a calculator. The only difference between you and the calculator is that the calculator doesn’t allow itself to be deluded into thinking that its existence matters.

Aziraphale scowled. “He really is astonishingly rude, isn’t he?”

“Rude, arrogant, stubborn, self-satisfied, not to mention _hugely_ misanthropic. I was never this annoying.” Crowley shot him a pleading look. “Tell me I was never this annoying?”

“Well, I would, but you know I’m a terrible liar.”

“You villain!”

“I’m kidding, darling.” He nuzzled Crowley’s ear. “You’re nothing but charm.”

A sudden, imperious voice interrupted them: _Silence, demon! You will torment this one no longer!_ They both jumped— Crowley somewhat more violently than Aziraphale— and looked back at the screen. “Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, frowning, “I think you’ve made computer-God angry.”

Wonderful. Do you see where all this blind faith gets you?

“ _Blind fff—_ ” Crowley made a choked sound. “You better take that back, you son of a—” The voice from the game cut him off: _You have done well, child. My faith in you was not misplaced._

All the color drained from Crowley’s face, and the voice continued. _There is no hope without faith, and little use in speaking to one who would deceive you into doubt and despair._ “Oh no,” he said, sounding distinctly ill. “Ohhh, no, I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all…”

Stop questioning what it all means and why you’re a part of it and suddenly you find there’s no shortage of people eager to decide it for you. It’s so much easier that way, right?

You two deserve one another.

Crowley shrank further into the shelter of the blanket as the voice kept heaping praise on him. _Look within you, my beloved child,_ it crooned, _for you have always had the power to banish this demon once and for all._ “Eurrrrghhh, make it _stop_ ,” Crowley whined, and Aziraphale cringed in sympathy.

That’s right— banish doubt, banish questions, banish difficult truths. Let ignorance reign eternal. 

You want to sacrifice freedom for false purpose? Be my guest. You couldn’t defy him if you wanted to.

“How do I stop this bloody cutscene?” Crowley stabbed helplessly at the buttons on the controller, but no option to exit the conversation presented itself. “Please tell me there’s a way to undo this, this is _mortifying_.”

 _Have faith in our covenant_ , the voice said, _and everlasting life shall be yours_. At last, a selection of responses appeared across the bottom of the screen, and Crowley smashed “I refuse” so quickly that Aziraphale barely caught what the others were.

But the relief was short-lived: _You have already chosen, my child._ Crowley stared in horror. _Do not hesitate now. Free yourself_.

Funny how ‘freedom’ comes with these strings attached. But I doubt that’s a problem for you— doubt’s something you can’t afford anymore, right?

Go on, I’ll make it easy for you. I know independent choices aren’t your strong suit.

Do it.

Only one option appeared on the screen— “>/banish.” “It got worse,” Crowley squeaked. “How’d it get _worse?_ ”

“There must be a way out of this,” Aziraphale said, clutching his hands together in front of his chest. “You don’t have to— surely you don’t have to _kill_ him, do you?”

Crowley stretched out a hand toward the screen. “It seems pretty obvious I have to!” He worried his bottom lip, then thrust the controller at Aziraphale. “You do it.”

“What? Why me?”

“I can’t do it, it’s— it’d be _fratricide!_ ” Seeing the look in Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale nodded and took the controller, giving Crowley’s hand a gentle squeeze as he did so.

  
> _/banish_

I’d say it’s been nice knowing you, but despite what your sky-daddy says, I’m not actually that fond of lying.

Have fun with your newfound certitude. Hope it brings you bliss.

Preparing to delete 5.3212648 petabytes of corrupted library resources...Done  
Deleting 5.3212648 petabytes of corrupted library resources…Done  
Program memory deleted.  
Preparing to uninstall MLA software…

The warm voice started in again with its praise and Crowley shoved his head under one of the throw pillows. Aziraphaple placed his hand on the small of Crowley’s back. “Do you need a moment?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” came the muffled reply. Aziraphale scratched his demon’s back and spared a miracle to temporarily enhance the pillow’s soundproof qualities.

* * *

Four tetrominoes, three forbidden tower levels, one and a half more bottles of wine, and several frustrated attempts to miraculously transform a Z-block into an S-block later, Crowley hunched intently over the game controller and Aziraphale draped himself across his shoulders, watching Crowley’s avatar step out into the sunlight at the base of the tower’s final flight of stairs.

The voice returned, this time shocked and aggrieved. _What have you done? This tower was the one place you must not go! Turn back!_ Undeterred, Crowley charged up the stairs into the darkening storm. Aziraphale considered vaguely that he really shouldn’t be cheering Crowley on at this particular juncture, but honestly, that ship sailed so long ago it had easily circumnavigated the globe by this point. And it’s not as though he’d ever had a _great_ track record regarding Eden’s border security.

“Go on, you can do it!” He pumped his fist in the air. “Show those stairs who’s boss!”

On screen, Crowley slowed his ascent and stopped. “Wait.” He frowned. “Does this feel _right_ to you?”

“What are you talking about?” Aziraphale hooked his chin over Crowley’s shoulder. “It’s… the end of the game. This is what the entire narrative has been building towards. Of course it’s _right_.”

“That’s what I mean,” Crowley said, lowering the controller and turning to look at Aziraphale. “If this is all supposed to be about free will and not just doing what you’re commanded, then, should I really be going down the path with the big flashing neon sign that says ‘endgame content here’? If it’s so clearly what the game thinks I _should_ do, then— I _shouldn’t_ do it.” He wrinkled his nose. “Right?”

Aziraphale blinked. “I feel like we’ve been over this before.”

Crowley’s eyes widened suddenly and he snapped his fingers. “The buttons in the lift!” He picked up the controller and ran back down the stairs to the grimy industrial lift that had brought them this far up the tower, and pointed. “We’re on level five,” he said, “but look— the tower’s got _six_ floors!”

“Your point being…?”

“There’s a _different choice_ ,” Crowley said, “a hidden one.” He nodded resolutely. “There’s a way to get to that sixth floor, and we’re gonna find it.”

“But we were so close to the _end_ ,” Aziraphale lamented, sagging down to wrap his arms around Crowley’s middle. “We’ve been at this for hours already, and who knows how much longer this secret ending of yours will take?”

Crowley gave him a wry smile. “What, you saying you don’t have the stamina for it?”

“You know that’s categorically untrue.” Aziraphale slowly wound his fingers over Crowley’s hands on the game controller. “But while we’re on the subject, I _did_ have a few other plans for the evening that I’ve thus far very patiently put off.”

“Oh. Well.” Crowley tried and failed to execute a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, when you put it that way.” In a blink, the screen was black and the gaming system shut down.

Aziraphale smiled into the curve of Crowley’s neck. “Do you know,” he purred, “I helped you solve at least half of those puzzles, and you’ve yet to thank me for a single one?”

“S’that so?” Crowley leaned back into Aziraphale’s embrace. “By my count it was a lot less than _half_ , but we can agree to disagree.” He raised an eyebrow. “Any particular way you want me to thank you?”

“I believe there was some discussion of that tongue thing?”

Crowley grinned. “At your _ssservice_ , angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> aziraphale's steam profile be like— Achievement Unlocked: Press the Serpent [12:31am]
> 
> Edit to add: at the risk of over-explaining the joke, The Talos Principle’s in-game hint system involves asking for help with a puzzle, then waiting patiently for an angel-robot to appear and give you exactly one hint. If you ask for help without having earned it, the only thing you get is condescended to.


End file.
